The Life And Times Of The Boy Who Would Be (Demon) King
by ConsultingHunterOfGalifrey
Summary: Before he was The King of Hell, before he was even a demon, he was a young man named Fergus McLeod...
1. Prologue

Prologue: Do You Want To Know How I Got These Eyes?

"Names, Crowley! We need more names!"

The demon rolled his eyes at Dean. "I'm not in the mood. Do you KNOW how many demons there are? And there's probably even more out there since I was last home. How about something more personal? Had a lot of time to reflect on my life story..."

"We're not interested in how you got your scars, Crowley..." Dean replied.

"Maybe I'd give you more names if you..."

"You're not allowed near Kevin..." Sam injected. Crowley mockingly pouted.

Dean sighed. "I'm going to try and track down Cas. I'll take Kevin with me. Kid's getting stir-crazy..." Sam raised an eyebrow. "And what about me?" "Stay here. See if Crowley opens up..."

~0~

Sam paced around the bunker. Dean was still gone. That's when he got an idea.

Crowley squinted as the wall opened. Sam walked in, dragging a chair. Sam sat down, arms folded.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's this story you seem so keen on sharing?"

Crowley smirked. "See, this is why your my favorite, Moose..."


	2. Chapter 1: Son of a Witch

"Well, you already know I was born in Scotland..."

"Yeah, late 1600s. You wore kilts and were a tailor. And your mom was a witch." Sam said. The last bit had embedded itself in his head after Sarah died.

Crowley smiled (almost fondly, Sam noted). "Ah, Mum. Catrìona McLeod. Lovely woman once you got to know her. Hated people, though. And, yeah, her summoning demonic forces was rather distracting whenever I was studying. But she was all I had growing up. Dear Papa went and left when I was just a boy..."

~0~

Fergus frowned as he stitched up his mum's skirts. She really needed to stop riling up the locals. They already hated her, and suspected her of witchcraft. Sure, today, they'd throw a torch at her feet. But what was next? Burning her at the stake? Lynching? Stoning?

It didn't do him any favors, either. Everyone knew him as the Witch's son, effectively ostracizing Fergus as well. When he was younger, none of the kids played were allowed to play with him. And now that he was almost of age, he would have to go and seek a job in the next town tomorrow. It was as if they assumed he was a witch by association. (Which was mildly true. Mum was teaching him witchcraft. But the assumption still hurt.)

He didn't like living like this. He didn't like living in a shabby little house on the outskirts of the outskirts of town. He didn't like living...

His mum entered the room, noticing her son stewing in his anger. "Ah, mah charmin' Fergus!" She said with a smile and her thick, familiar accent. She pushed one of her wild ginger locks out of her face. Fergus refused to look up. His mother knelt beside him and ran her hands though his hair sweetly. She noticed a cut on his forehead. "Fergus." She said sternly. He sighed, tightening the knot on his stitch. You could barely tell it had been burned.

"Agnus. He threw a rock at me. Threatened ta throw a cleaver next if ah didn't leave..." Fergus could sense his mother frown. Agnus Alasdair and his father, the local butcher, were practically the McLeods' arch-nemeses. Mr. Alasdair had often accused Mrs. McLeod of "unsettlin' his livestock." Which was entirely untrue... The first time. (She was a spiteful creature that way.)

"So, what did you do?" she asked. "Ah spat at 'em an' ran like the devil..." Fergus replied, handing her back her skirt. She chuckled. "Mah darlin', ah'm going ta fix that up. Then ah'm going ta teach ya how ta make ah proper hex bag..."

Later that night, his mum got out a bowl of ingredients. Fergus stopped tossing his hex bag in the air. "Yer summonin' one again?" He asked. He didn't like when his mum summoned a demon. It never ended well. Mum sighed. "Go to bed Fergus. I have business and you have a long trip tomorrow."

"Aw, Mummy! Ah'm a grown man now! Ah don't need yeh to tell meh..."

"So why aren't yeh asleep now?"

Fergus realized her point and ran up the stairs to his attic room. "Ah love yeh, Fergus." she shouted up the stairs. "Ah love yeh, too, Mum!" he called back.

"Alright, how'd it all go wrong?"

Crowley frowned. "Pardon?"

"Well, I just have the feeling it all went to crap, somehow..." Sam answered.

Crowley sighed. Remembering quite vividly when it all went to crap.

"Well I went to the other town that morning. It was half a day's trip by foot. I got an apprenticeship with the local tailor. He even gave me a place to stay, and let me borrow his cart. He told me to get anything I might've left at home and come back first thing in the morning. So I headed home, eager to tell mum..."

The cart cut travel time down by half. Fergus looked to see the all-familiar silhouette of home.

But there was none.

His whole house was burned to the ground. He didn't need to search for his mother's body. He just knew she was dead. Nothing could be salvaged from that, save some jars of spell ingredients and a stone bowl. There was a sign in front of the wreckage:

"A WARNING TO ALL WHO MEDDLE IN WITCHCRAFT".

Fergus didn't need to be told who did this. He knew it was The Alasdairs. He still had the hex bag his mother taught him to make. He marched into his former hometown to the butcher's house. He threw the bag into the house and ran for the cart, urging the horse to go.

He remembered the spell his mum had used. Luckily, he had the ingredients. He murmured the incantation and set the bowl alight. He heard screaming in the distance. There was a shape that looked like a man on fire, running into the street. And another shape that was no doubt Angus, not on fire, but staring out towards him.

Fergus smiled to himself. "A warning to those that meddle with witches." He thought. He turned around, never looking back.

~0~

"So, your mom died in a fire, too?" Sam asked. Crowley nodded. "What, are you boys in some sort of club? Do you have t-shirts?" Sam shook his head.

"Do you have any other stupid questions before I continue, Redwood?"

"...You really had a thick Scottish accent back then?"


	3. Chapter 2: What You Sew

"Well, I'm sure she's proud of you..." Sam commented.

"Hm?"

"Your mom. I mean, you're the King of Hell. Given what you said about her, she'd be proud."

Crowley looked like he was going to protest, but shrugged. "She probably would. Never ran into her downstairs. But I'm sure she was looking up with pride when I got my first job in life. You could say I was a born salesman..."

~0~

"Ah assure yeh, Ms. McCreedy, a lovely lady like yeh deserves a lovely dress."

The young woman blushed. "Oh! But it'd be so expensive, Mr. McLeod. Ah would rather just get the ol' one re-hemmed..."

Fergus smiled an extra-charming smile, and took Ms. McCreedy's hand. "Darling, yeh can call meh Fergus. Yer a valued customer, here. And as for the price a' the dress..." He winked. "We all need ta indulge ourselves once in a while..."

The woman practically melted. "Oh... Oh-okay. You talked meh into it..." She started giggling. Fergus smirked. "It'll be ready by the end a' the week..." Ms. McCreedy handed Fergus the money and exited the shop.

Fergus leaned on the counter and gazed at himself in the mirror. He'd been working at the tailor's for five years now, running it for two of them. He looked very little like the twelve-year-old boy who'd discovered his mother's death.

He still had his father's dark hair and his mother's green eyes. He had quite an athletic build, now. This was highlighted by his kilt. He knew half the women in town fancied him (and honestly, quite a few of the men, too.) And Fergus used this to his advantage. It was his own kind of magic.

Of course, he still practiced his mum's brand of magic, too. Though he'd learned to be more discreet then Dear Departed Mummy. If he wanted to kill someone, he waited a few weeks after the slight to do it. If it was more than one person, he'd wait a few weeks in-between. And he did it in more discreet ways, too. It was an art in and of itself.

~0~

"And they never caught you?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Crowley looked at Sam as if he asked a stupid question. "Of course not! They never heard about the incident with Mr. Alasdair or figured out the random deaths. Besides, I'd already charmed my why into the hearts of most (and skirts, for some) of them. If anyone DID accuse or suspect me, they were too charmed to believe or accept it.

"And to be fair, there WAS at least one mercy killing..."

"Oh, I'm sure that did wonders to save your soul..."

"I don't need your Squirrel-eske sass, Moose. Anyway, my former boss, Mr. Craigson, he'd been good to me. Better than he was to his own daughters, if I recall his wife screeching correctly..."

~0~

Mr. Craigson was quite old. He was going blind in one eye, and his hands were shaky now. Every word he said was punctuated with a fit of coughing that even made Fergus's throat raw. The man hardly left his bed. In all honesty, he'd left the shop to Fergus more out of necessity. His wife and daughters had left him for America, and he was declining quickly, after all.

Fergus couldn't take it anymore. Mr. Craigson was more an undying corpse than a man. He figured he at least owed the man some peace. (And, if he was completely honest with himself, it'd give him some peace, too. He couldn't exactly read with him hacking up organs in the other room.

So that night, Fergus left a hex bag by Mr. Craigson's pillow, lit a match, and started to murmur the incantation. The man stirred. "Fergus?" He hoarsely whispered. Fergus nodded, continuing to murmur his spell. The fire turned a sickly green. Craigson frowned. "Wha'cha doin', lad?" Fergus looked up. "Killin' yeh..."

Craigson moved his head slightly forward, as if to nod. "Yea. About time ta die. Thank yeh, lad..." Fergus said nothing and continued the spell. He held his fingers around the flame of the match, ready to snuff out the feeble light.

"Yer a witch, ain'tcha lad?"

"Yes." Fergus said, snuffing out the light to finish the spell. Craigson let out a tiny, weak croak, then went still. Fergus took his hex bag and left the room.

~0~

"Ironically, a few weeks after his death, is when the big day happened."

Sam tilted his head, wearing an expression that reminded Crowley of a certain ex-angel. Crowley knew something was off with the boy, but he kept his suspicions to himself. He was saving his theory for leverage on a rainy day.

He rolled his eyes. "I sold my soul." The demon hacked. "Throat's a bit scratchy, love. Be a dear and get me some water?" Sam got up. "Sure." Crowley smirked. "That's a good boy..."


	4. Chapter 3: For Want Of A Soul

"Ahh..." Crowley said. Setting his water down. "Now, where was I?" Sam took a swig of his beer. "You euthanized your boss and were about to talk about how you sold your soul..."

Crowley "Oh. Yes. THAT was a story. So, it was a couple weeks after Craigson died..."

~0~

It was a slow day at the tailor's. Fergus decided that if he wasn't going to make a profit today, he might as well do something useful. He was studying Enochian. "The language of angels", supposedly. Well, if Fergus wanted to expand his business, he might as well learn as many languages as possible.

"Ah, little Fergy! All grown up..." Fergus didn't startle easily, but he was spooked when he heard the voice. He looked up and saw a man. He had dark brown hair, sharp features, and dressed exquistely. But the most striking feature was his eyes. They were grey as oncoming storm clouds. "Orrin." Fergus sneered.

Of all the demons his mother cavorted with, Orrin was the one Fergus hated the most. Whenever he came around, it always seemed to precede trouble. He was the demon his mother summoned the night before she died. Just seeing him after all these years stirred up contempt in the young man. "Here ah thought this was a respectable town. What do yeh want?"

"No love for Uncle Orrin?" The demon said in his Danish accent. "Here I thought Cat raised you better than that." He looked at the book. "Enochian? Oh, she'd destroy Hell if she looked up and saw you reading that..." Fergus glared. "NEVER talk about mah mum."

Fergus brought his attention back to his book. "Besides, yeh usually arrive with some other agenda, Orrin..." He flipped a page. "Oh, that hurts, my boy. I just wanted to let you in on the deal of a lifetime...

"Some fools are summoning a Crossroads Demon here. I just figured you would want something for the low price of your soul in ten years..." Fergus raised an eyebrow. His mother mentioned Crossroads Demons before. Fergus had never met one, though. The idea of them was intriguing. The ultimate salesmen, giving you what you want at the ultimate price. It couldn't hurt to look. Orrin smiled, reading his face. "That's my boy. They're by the blacksmith's..."

Orrin teleported out of the room. Fergus closed shop and headed to the blacksmith's. There were three people there before him, burying the box to summon the demon. Soon, two demons appeared out of thin air: a tall, blonde man and a short, blonde woman.

"Two?" Sam asked, interrupting again. Crowley scowled. "I don't know whether to be annoyed at you interrupting me again, or pleased you're paying attention enough to ask. We needed two back then because, well, the public wasn't so open-minded back then. We had to keep up PR, you know. And keep the customers comfortable. Anyway, the two appeared..."

"So, who's willing to make a deal?" The female demon said, eyes flickering red. The baker stepped up first. "Aye. My son can't do anything! Ah need him ta be skilled in somethin' practical... An' profitable..." The woman smiled. "Done." She kissed the baker, sealing the deal. She turned to the other man, a farmer. "And you, sweetheart?"

"I want to see the world! To make my name as an explorer!" "Of course." She got on her tiptoes and kissed him, as well. The demon man turned to the woman, the blacksmith's daughter.

"And what brings you to our crossroads?" he said, voice dripping with honey. "...Ah just want love! Ah want the butcher's boy ta love meh!" The demon grinned. "Child's play." The two shared a kiss. The demon's eyes flicked to Fergus. "Last, but not least. What do you want?"

Fergus tried to think of whether to go through with this. Was anything worth selling his soul? Curiosity and youthful impulsivity got the better of him. He turned to the blacksmith's daughter. "Ms. MacTaggert, yeh may want ta cover yeh ears..." She did so.

"How about a few more inches downstairs, eh? Just enough ta hit double digits..."

~0~

Sam sprayed out his beer. He wiped some off his face. "Sorry..." Crowley glared. "WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?" "I thought Bobby was joking about that!" Crowley eased up, smirking. The demon could be so mercurial.

"But seriously, you didn't ask for something else? Like resurrecting your mom?" Sam asked. Crowley rolled his eyes. "I don't know where you've been the past four years, but I'm not as noble as you boys. I don't do the whole "sacrifice yourself for someone else" thing. Besides, I didn't know what would happen! She could've come back a zombie of something. Iknew not to mess with the dead. Again, unlike you boys..."

"Yet you were willing to risk your d-"

"I was young and stupid, Moose. I was young and stupid."


	5. Chapter 4: Sticking Place

"So, you sold your soul young... But... Didn't you have a...?"

"Worthless little bugger?" Crowley sighed in irritation. "I'd be rubbing my temples if you didn't have me in bondage, Sam. Yes. I had son. Hated every minute of it, too..."

~0~

Fergus really didn't have much plans or real desire for marriage. He preferred remaining unhitched. (Some rather greatful customers and townsfolk were quite pleased about this, too.) Besides, he had only eight of his ten years to live, now. Why form such an attachment?

Although, he was considering a deal with his neighbors, The McBrae Twins. The girl, Ashlyn, needed to find a husband. However, "Ah'm not exactly interested in men..." She had told him. If she could have had her way, she'd marry the butcher's niece, Beibhinn. But Ashlyn's brother, Callan, had an idea.

"Callan will marry meh sweet Bei. An' I can marry yeh. That way Papa an' society can be pleased. But in truth, Ah'll be with Bei, an' yeh can be with Cal. He fancies yeh, yeh know?" Fergus smirked. If he was being completely honest, he found Callan the more attractive of the McBrae twins. "Yeh don't even have ta give me children. Ah can't have them, anyway..."

"Well, looks like everyone wins in this arrangement..." He mused. "What really happens behind closed doors ain't ta business of anyone but us." Fergus grinned. "Yeh make a valid point, m'darlin'. Just give me some time ta think about it..."

~0~

"I was honestly willing to go through with it. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to get in on the Best Marriage Ever." Crowley pouted. "There was a girl, Regan. And one night there was a party. We got quite drunk, there was a bed upstairs, and we might've..."

Sam held up his hands. "I... I get it. My mind can fill in the rest..." Crowley smirked. Toying with the younger Winchester never got old. "Can you, now? Anyway, she comes into my shop a day after Ashlyn's proposal, slams the door, and bellows..."

~0~

"AH'M WITH CHILD, YEH SOD!"

Fergus tore the shirt he was mending. "Yer what?" Regan slammed her fist down on the counter. "AH'M CARRYIN' YER SPAWN!" Fergus whirled around to face the cantankerous woman. "IT TAKES TWO TA PROCREATE, M'DARLIN'! YEH WEREN'T INNOCENT!"

Regan scowled. "How are yeh going ta fix this?" Fergus had ninety-nine ways to "fix" this, each of them grizzly. But he kept his mouth shut. "Yeh gotta make an' honest woman outta me." She stated.

"No offense, darlin', but yer far from meh first choice fer Mrs. McLeod..." She grabbed Fergus by the shirt. "Yer gonna marry me right away, or ah'm gonna tell everyone yeh got meh pregnant. Ah might even change some details against yeh." Fergus sighed. "Fine. Tomorrow mornin'..." Regan smiled victoriously. She let go of Fergus and strode out of the shop. "Goodbye, sweetie..."

He tried to find a way out of this. He could kill her, but she stood the chance of becoming a ghost. Fleeing was out of the question. Uprooting and trying to re-establish a life elsewhere was out of the question (and pointless. He had only eight years, after all.). Fergus gripped his scissors and threw them at the wall in frustration. They stuck. He was stuck.

The next nine months would make The Rack look pleasant later in his life (Afterlife? Demon life? What does one call life as a demon?). To say The McLeods hated each other was an understatement. Everyone in town wondered what they saw in each other. "CLOTPOLE!" She'd shout at him, either breaking something or throwing it at Fergus. "WENCH!" He'd reply, before drinking.

It got somewhat better when Gavin was born. Regan seemed to calm down for the sake of her boy. But the damage was done. She still hated her husband. And Fergus barely withheld his contempt for his wife.

He didn't care much for his son, either. He was a reminder of why he was stuck here in the first place.

~0~

"You understand be forced into an unwanted marriage, right, Sam? That incident in Vegas about two years ago?"

Sam shook his head. "It wasn't nearly as messed up as your situation. Besides, that only happened because of one of YOUR "employees"..."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, we had him vivisected after the whole ordeal..." Crowley replied.

"Hey, what happened to the twins? And the niece?" Sam asked. Crowley shook his head. "Apparently, Beibhinn forgot to tell Ashlyn she was a shapeshifter. She took on a man's form and the two eloped. Callan died. I don't remember of what, though. Lonliness, a broken heart, a nasty wave of tuberculosis that spread one winter; take your pick..." He sighed. "We were born in the wrong century, Moose..."

Sam was actually starting to feel a twinge of sympathy for Crowley. His head was trying to remind him not to trust the demon. But he couldn't help but feel he was being sincere.

"Ready to hear how it all ended?"


	6. Chapter 5: Scottish Rhapsody

"Well, you know the last few years were rubbish. I did manage to try and maintain my public persona. Still hated my forced kin. Then came the week it all ended."

~0~

The visions kept coming.

It was almost enough to make Fergus stop drinking. Everyone's faces became garbled. He heard howling, howling everywhere. Horrible, wretched howling. Regan seemed to actually pity him. She would stroke his hair. "What's wrong?"

He smacked her away. "Get out of meh face, harlot..." She frowned (he thought, it looked like frowning). "Yeve been goin' crazy fer a week. Ah'm a wee bit concerned. For yeh and our son. Ah'm yer wife, after all..." "And who's fault is THAT!?" Fergus spit back. Regan stormed out of the room.

They were dropping like flies. The baker was found, mauled by some strange beast. And Mrs. McHagger (née MacTaggert) went the same way. As far as Fergus knew, he and the farmer were the only ones left. He had to get away. He grabbed a knife and scissors. He needed to run.

The scissors were stuffed into his knapsack. There was scratching on the door. The visions got worse. More howling. He ran for the back door. Something grabbed him. He stabbed it with the knife. It let go. He turned around and stabbed it as many times as it took to kill it. "MAM!" He heard Gavin cry out.

Fergus was shaking. Upon further inspection, he discovered had killed Regan. On any other day, he's have been pleased, but not now. He fled the house and ran for the outside of town.

Something grabbed him and stuffed something in his bag. Fergus tried to stab it, but it wrestled the knife from his hands and overpowered him. It pinned him to the ground. "You sod! Calm down!" It said.

Fergus looked up at his assailant. His head was clearing. The man was muscular, with red hair and dark eyes. He had a crossbow and a pair of spectacles. The Man's eyes widened. "It's yeh. No bloody way... Fergus McLeod! How the deuce have you been?" Fergus scowled as he recognized the man. "Angus Alasdair..."

Angus explained how after the incidents with his father and Fergus's mother, he met a stranger who hunted monsters. Angus was taken in as his apprentice, and had been hunting ever since.

"A friend of mine, Scott, was hunted down by hellhounds. He told me before his adventures, he made a deal with demons back when he was just a farmer. He said three other sad sods made deals. Looks like yer the only one left. Ah'm here to help you..."

Fergus scowled. "How and why would yeh help me?" Angus smirked. "Because ah'm a better person then when we were boys, McLeod. An' ah'm understand why yeh killed Papa. Ah was a twat to you. An' honestly, ah'd have killed yer mam if yeh had done the same..." Fergus frowned. "Oh, that is reassuring..."

Angus stood up and helped Fergus up. "Yeh see these spectacles? It lets me see the hellhounds. That dust I gave yeh is called gofer dust. Wards off the buggers." He shook another bag. "The Men of Letters are brilliant..." He added.

Angus grabbed Fergus by the arm and dragged him out of town. He poured a line of gofer dust across the width of the road. "Sure, it's not like they can just go around that..." Fergus commented, gesturing to the grassy areas bookendinf the sides of the road. Angus paused, then smacked his forehead. "All hail the hero! It's nice ta know yer still stupid..."

"Hey, who sold his soul just to get a bigger..." Angus was interrupted by snarling. Fergus reached for his gofer dust and tossed it in the direction of the snarling. The visions started returning. Angus glared at him. "...An' yeh went and did that! It's mah first time fightin' hellhounds, an' yeh just doomed us..." Fergus wondered how he'd even survived as a hunter.

"Ah think ah know how ta stall them..." Fergus said, reaching into his bag. "How?" Fergus stabbed Angus with the scissors, and kicked him towards the hellhounds (or where he guessed they were). "HAVE AT HIM, BOYS!" He shouted, voice dripping with madness. He ran away, swearing he saw Angus being ripped apart by thin air.

He had to keep running. And he probably would have, if he hadn't have bumped into Orrin at the crossroads. For the first time, he could see his face. Words could not describe the hideous sight. Fergus stabbed him with the knife. "THIS IS YER FAULT!" Orrin just chuckled and pulled the knife out, thrusting it aside. "That knife's not the least bit Kurdish. You can't kill a demon the way you kill a man..." He looked up and beyond Fergus. "See you when you get off The Rack..." he disappeared.

The hellhounds leapt upon his body, knocking him on his back and eviscerating him. He started coughing up blood. His vision went red as he stared at the crossroad sign. That is, before his vision slowly went away. The white-hot, piercing pain as they tore at his being was too much to bear. To struggle made it worse.

And then the pain, everything, just went away.

Fergus Roderick McLeod was dead.

~0~

"And then?" Sam asked.

Crowley shrugged."Eh. It's pretty simple. Was tortured for decades in Hell-Years. Became a Crossroads Demon and rose up to be their king. Became Lilith's right hand, possessed some literary agent in New York. His name's Orson E. Delaware, by the way. Not that you'd ever ask. Anyway, I helped some idiots stop the apocalypse..." Crowley winked at Sam. "Became King of Hell. Aaaand you know the rest, big boy."

Sam just sat there, trying to process it all. It was hard to believe Crowley was once human, given all that he'd done. Especially over the last year. But at the same time, he'd seen it, however briefly, when he injected his blood into the demon. "I deserve TO BE LOVED!" He'd said.

Well, now he knew more about where that came from...


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue- Have The Lambs Stopped Screaming?

Sam didn't hear Dean walk in. "Sam, what are you doing?" He spun around to face his older brother. "Hey, Dean! Did you guys find Cas?" Dean shook his head. "I'm starting to get worried. But you didn't answer my question, Sam..."

Crowley smiled. "I was just telling him some more names..." Sam looked at Crowley, slightly confused. The demon tutted. "Weren't you paying attention? Alice McHagger, Argus Scott, Fredrick Murray, and Orrin." Sam's eyes widened. Dean slapped his brother on the back.

The two brothers went to exit the dungeon. "Good job, Sam. How'd you worm them out of Crowley? Torture? Silent treatment?" Crowley called out after them. "Neither. In fact, you might say he was an angel..."

Dean froze.

AN And lo, it is done! Thank you for reading and supporting, I swear I'll fix any mistakes I've made, and I hope you'll read anything else I put out. Carry on, my wayward kin!


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